


Afraid I've Been Thinking

by Azpidistra



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azpidistra/pseuds/Azpidistra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killing the Beast does not go as planned.  If anything, it goes horribly horribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afraid I've Been Thinking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PineapplePrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PineapplePrincess/gifts).



> This story depicts brief descriptions of childhood abuse. Please keep in mind before reading.

He cringed. He could hear the sound of the belt. His father yelling. His mother screaming.

When his father finally came for Gaston, he cowered. The belt stung on his shoulders. He yelled over and over, "Stop, stop, please stop."

But, of course, the belt did not stop. His father swore, loudly, drunkenly.

Perhaps he snapped. But he crawled at his father leg's pushing and screaming and somehow, his father was on the ground, and he crawled towards his mother, and she - she was not breathing.

Blood everywhere. Her neck at an awkward angle.

He did not cry. He screamed, and he hit at her, shaking her shoulders, begging her to wake up.

He heard his father stir. With one last shake at his mother's shoulders, he ran.

Ran out the door. Ran and ran and ran, until he collapsed.

He did not know how long he was outside before the kind hands found him. 

He fought at first, but her voice soothed him. So much like his mother's. 

The young boy who hovered by his bedside while he slept was annoying, but perhaps he would be all right later.

He drifted in and out of sleep. Mumbling about eggs and beasts, his last thought:

He would never be that weak again. 

 

***

He lunged at the beast, crazed; desperate.

But the Beast was backing away. "Belle," he said, simply.

Gaston looked around wildly. This was his chance. He lunged again, when he heard, "Gaston, no!"

His knife found flesh, soft and yielding; he heard a gasp.

A stumble. In the rain, he saw Belle stumble against the Beast. Bleeding. Hurt.

He - He -

The Beast growled, he shuffled backwards, sure he would fall, but Belle was reaching up one-armed, touching his wrist. "Beast," she said sadly, "no."

The Beast looked at her. "Belle. You're hurt. _He_ ," the Beast looked at him, "he did this."

"Yes, but - it's not worth it, Beast, I - I love you."

She fainted. The Beast stumbled backwards in the rain, holding her. 

Gaston could not describe what happened next.

Magic, he supposed.

When the rain cleared, a young man stood before him, still holding Belle. 

He tried to take a step forward, but stopped when the young man turned his gaze on him. The eyes... the eyes looked familiar.

What he assumed were servants swirled around the young man. "Call for the medic," the young man was saying, "and the guards. Have him contained," the young man gestured towards him, "and have a bed prepared for Belle."

"Of course, master," he heard a servant say. 

He was dragged away. Something in him could not fight. 

***

He did not know how long he sat in there. Minutes, hours, or days. 

He tried a few times to break out, and while he did manage to punch some debris loose from the walls, nothing gave to let him out. It did not stop him.

The fight in him was back. He hated enclosed spaces. 

***

“Belle is awake,” someone told him some days later. He scrambled to the door. “Although, she will never have full use of her arm again.”

He recognized the prince, wan and tired, and very, very human. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally asked.

“I - I do not know,” was the prince’s answer. “Why? Why hurt Belle?”

“I meant to hurt you,” he felt some of his old sneer. “I wanted her to love me, not some - not some beast like you.”

He thought he saw the prince close his eyes. For whatever reason, he noticed the lashes, impossibly long, and curled. “I have news for you, Gaston. I’m not the Beast, you are.”

The Prince’s footsteps echoed. He rested his head against the bars. 

Belle, he thought.

***

When the fat guy brought him food some time later, he was waiting at the bars. “How long have I been here?”

The fat guy gave him a glance, a long suffering glance. “If you think -”

“How long have I been here?” he asked again, harsher.

The fat guy puffed out. “Not long enough, if you ask me.”

***

“We took a walk around the garden,” came the Prince’s voice. 

He assumed it had been a few days since he last tried to speak to the fat guy. “Why are you telling me this?”

He was losing his muscles, and with it, he assumed, his bite. They did not serve eggs here. 

The Prince was looking at him through the bars. “Because you _want_ to know.”

***

_Dear LeFou,_

_I am in the castle of the Beast. Except, well, he is not a beast anymore. I am in a cage, I am hungry - not nearly enough food for a strapping man - tired._

_I am afraid… I have been thinking. Yes, yes, I know, a dangerous past time. Now, the wheels in my head have been turning, since I found myself in this castle. I hurt… Belle. I aimed for the Beast, our huge, ugly Beast, and I hurt… Belle._

_She stepped between the Beast and I when I moved to stab him, I - I caught her shoulder. They tell me she may not regain use of her arm. Is this what it is to love? Honestly?_

_I have been thinking, yes, but I do not know what to think. The Beast is no longer a beast, and I am in a cage._

_Lefou. Lefou. You know me better than anyone, am I so evil?_

_-G_

***

He had many layers. That he knew to write, for one. He did not expect an answer. Nor did he expect the day Belle showed at his doorstep. 

He tried to smooth his clothes, fix his hair, but he was covered in dirt, and his very being felt streaked with grime.

He could see into the shadows - too much time spent hunting to not see in the shadows - Belle was not alone. The Prince stood there.

He scowled his worst scowl. “You should not be here.”

She considered him a moment, before inclining her head. “I know.”

He said nothing, staring at her; eyes drawn together, if not cruelly, then harshly.

“Adam and I were married this morning, and -”

“Adam,” he interrupted, but he looked at the Prince even as he said it, who inclined his head in confirmation. He returned his gaze back to Belle. “Continue,”

Belle sighed, gathered herself up. Her arm was still in a sling he noticed, and he almost cracked, knowing he had done this to her, but he didn’t. Men like him did not crack.

“You are many things, Gaston, vain, cruel, and short-tempered. You would have had my father condemned to make me marry you. You came after a good-hearted Prince, all because you believed he was a beast. He is no beast, Gaston, but you are.” She hesitated, then, “I mistook him for one too, at first. But he changed. He showed who he was truly. Perhaps we should give you the same chance. You have been chained here weeks already, and in keeping you chained, perhaps we are as heartless as you.”

She shuffled forward, stepping into light. Even with her arm in the sling, she was still as beautiful as him. “You will learn to love reading. There will be no more talk of marriage or strapping young boys like you. But the truth is, Gaston, we need you. We need your temper and vindictive streak to balance us. We will still have enemies. We will need your help.”

With her good arm, she reached between the bars to take his chin firmly between her forefinger and thumb, and forced him to look at her directly. “You will learn to care about someone besides yourself.” 

She let go, shuffled back. The Prince stepped out from the shadows, and circled an arm around her waist, motioning for them to go. She paused in the Prince’s embrace, head turning or her shoulder to look at him. “Consider it,” she said, and they left.

Together.

We need you, she had said.

Gaston looked away. 

He thought of Maurice, crazy old Maurice, always good for a laugh, and Belle throwing him out into the mud, and Lefou -

He thought of Lefou, and how Lefou’s mother had taken him in when he had no one else.

He stumbled back, falling.

We need you, she had said.

It was a first.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kay for her lightening-quick beta-read. While I could not quite bring myself to write true threesome between these characters, I hope this fulfills your wishes all the same. Happy Holidays, however you celebrate!


End file.
